Pure Sunshine
by CherryFlavoredChalk
Summary: I'm kinda in love with you, and it'd be really cool if you could return the favor. I mean, I guess you don't have to, but I think I might die if you don't. And for them, it really was that simple. AxelRoxas.
1. It Kinda Stings

Summary: I've been on top of the world, since about six months ago, marking the first time I laid eyes on you.

Pairings: AxelRoxas, et al.

Disclaimer: If I owned Kingdom Hearts, I would not be making fanfiction about it. 'Cause all this would already BE in the game.

Author's Note: Happy Non-denominal Gift Day! (No, seriously, that's what my school calls it. Aside from one of my friends, who calls it "International Free Stuff Day"). Hope y'all were merry and responsible. I greet you with some stone-cold lovin' that is Akuroku for the holidays. Aaaanyways, I would, y'know, update my other stuff but I thought, "Hey. it's the holidays. Time for giggles and so on." So, yeah, here it is.

* * *

**I. It Kinda Stings**

I guess it all depends

I'm still a little crazy all the time

But I still try to hide it

That's still mine.

-Marianas Trench, "Shake Tramp"

Situations had a habit of being routine in Axel's life; something that could not be helped no matter how much he willed it not to be, or how hard he kept his back flat against the metaphorical Door of Mundane. He went to school, he worked at his job, he made grades high enough so that there wasn't a nuclear explosion of "What kind of grades are you bringing in this house?" from the parental units. He hung out with his friends. They spent time in McDonalds being cynical and stuffing their faces with all the buns and partially hydrogenated oil they could find. Then, he went home to irritated parents at a time most commonly labeled as _"coming home at this hour on a school night, goodness, Axel, where's your head?"_ He would shout something about not being a kid anymore, he was sixteen and no, they did not need to keep tabs on him all the time. His mother would fake tears, Axel would feel bad, and she would order him to go to bed before she threw something at him. Then, he'd stomp angrily up the stairs to his room, where he could play Columbian Necktie until his sister tried to punch a hole through the wall. It'd be his cue to open the door, screech something appropriately teenager-ish, like: **_"No one understands me!"_**

Axel would fall asleep in a fit of irritation.

And it would begin all over again the next day.

But now, his family was attempting to shake things up a bit by suddenly proclaiming at the dinner table, "…Auntie, Axel?"

Axel looked up, momentarily bewildered by being addressed as a female relative, and replied eloquently, "Unnh?"

"You want to spend your school's break at Auntie Tifa's, right, Axel?" his sister asked, widening her eyes at him. She casually turned the bowl of mashed potatoes towards him, where she had craftily sculpted, 'SAY YES STUPID'.

Axel dug into the potatoes with gusto, lobbing them onto his plate with enough force to splatter his darling baby sister's glasses. "How come?" he asked, tucking his legs under his chair so Kairi couldn't kick him with all the misdirected rage her skinny little legs could harbor.

"Daddy and I have a conference in Japan to attend." His mother explained, wiping at her mouth daintily. She squeezed her husband's hand before turning to her offspring and adding somewhat heartlessly, "Axey, you and Kai can't come."

"Yeah?" retaliated the eldest of her wounded offspring, savagely forking baked squash into his mouth. "How's that? Where in Japan are you going?"

"_Japan_." His mother said, as if he hadn't heard before. "A conference in _Japan_."

"I _know_, Mom, I'm just asking as to a _specific location_ as to where you and Stephen are going. Yanno, in case Kairi has an asthma attack or passes out from her anorexia or somethin'." Axel snarled. Hearing that his mother and her new hubby were embarking on an overseas trip was making him feel a bit agitated. And Japan? That just made it worse. He wanted to go to Japan. He wanted to meet that one guy who made that one really cool movie! Well, he couldn't remember what they called it ("Really Cool Japanese Cartoon With Cute Girls And Awesome Fight Scenes-ko?"), but it didn't lessen his desire any more.

"What Lara means, champ," began Stephen in his warm, comforting tone, "is that we didn't have enough money to send you and Kailey with us. Besides, champ, you don't even speak the language."

Stephen was not a bad man. He was just relatively idiotic, and had a bad habit of calling Kairi "Kailey" instead. Which was better than Axel; he got Champ instead. Or Buddy, but only if Stephen actually managed to muster up some friendly, "I'm-not-angry-but-I-could-possibly-be" irritation.

"KONICHIWA!" thundered Axel, waving his fork around and dropping greasy greens into Kairi's lap. "SAYONARA! WASABI! MITSUBISHI! HONDA ACCORD!"

"Axel." Began his mother, in her very best 'stop-acting-like-a-fool-before-I-have-to-exact-punishment-on-your-poor-unfortunate-soul' voice. "You can't go. So shut up already."

And there was a God because he did and his mother smiled peacefully, and Stephen continued his pathetic charade of pretending to be a real father and Kairi proceeded to whine about her teenybopper life at school.

Ah, normalcy. It does the heart good.

[--]

"Ma hates me. She's sending me away to a foreign country, where they believe in cannibalism and the occasional stabbing of infants." Axel griped into his phone, willing his friends to show some friend-like companionship and tell him that he was absolutely right, his mother was a cold little shrew, and Stephen was ugly and fat and horrible.

"AKA to your aunt Tifa's?" Selphie translated. He could hear the grin in her voice and decided to indulge in a few violent daydreams in which he forced her to trek to Auntie Tifa's and spend what should have been a joy filled vacation there. Axel sniffed and told her to shush, waiting for his other friend to show a bit more sympathy than that traitor Selphie had.

"I have no sympathy for you." Leon said shortly.

"BENEDICT ARNOLD!" Axel screeched into the receiver.

Selphie giggled into the phone, sounding very much like a chipmunk hyped up on caffeine pills. "Leon the Lion has to work at Psycho Cid's for break.'Cause he's on probaaaation. _Again_."

"What'd you do?"

Leon began, "Well, I—", but Selphie cut him off with a shriek of, "He totaled his dad's car! This is what, the fourth time? Leon's goin' for a record!"

"Whhhyyyy?" Axel bleated. "Leon, I need a ride to Selphie's!"

"What for?"

"So I don't have to go to Tifa's!"

"I like her!" Selphie interjected. Axel barked something that was both unintelligible to all of those participating in the conversation, but also happened to sound quite threatening. So, Selphie decided to shut up, just in case Axel decided to execute his threat—whatever that might have been.

"You would like her and yanno why? Because she's weird. LIKE YOU."

Selphie snickered maniacally for a few seconds, and then slammed down the phone, cluing Axel into the fact that a) Selphie Tilmitt was a vicious harpy b)Leon was going to be of no help unless he persuaded him and c)his friends sucked. Big time.

"Le-on, buddy, have I told you how much I love you?"

The brunet snorted. "I'm not giving you a ride anywhere. I'm either going to be at Cid's, or at my girlfriend's. Don't cry into your pillow about it, but the last thing I want to do is spend every waking moment with your psychotic mug. "

"Baby, you cut me with that last one. You cut me **_deep_**."

"Deep enough to die? But Christmas only comes once a year." Leon said bitingly, and he too slammed down the telephone, leaving Axel to moan and gripe for approximately two minutes before the phone rang again.

"Heartbreak Hotel, who's this?" he said, twirling the cord around his finger.

"Axel, it's Kairi."

"…Hi? Aren't you in your room?"

"Yes. I just wanted to tell you something very important."

Axel felt his sorry excuse for a day melt away into nothingness as he cooed, "Aw, I love you too, Kai."

Kairi gave a rather unladylike snort of disdain. "No, moron. I just wanted to tell you to shut up 'cause I can't hear my new CD over your howling."

"Ouch, Kai. That burns. I'm feelin' the pain. I could die, from such verbal wounding."

"Promise?" she sneered. She clicked off, allowing the dial to greet her brother's ears.

[--]

They managed to leave the next day with minor accidents, which included but were not limited to Axel's reluctance to board the train, Kairi squawking abut leaving her iPod speakers behind (which in actuality was hidden by Axel, who had no desire to listen to "Hot N' Cold" for three hours), and their parents obvious happiness at seeing their children leave.

"Bye-bye! Mommy and Daddy will write you!" Lara squealed, waving her purse at them energetically. Axel smooshed his face against the window, making obscene faces at the parental units in retaliation, until he gained the wisdom to open the window and shrieked, "Way to pawn your kids off to a sister you don't even communicate with anymore! What an awesome mother you are!"

The woman who had given him life, had mopped up his tears, had placed gentle kisses on every one of his scrapes as a child, gave him a wide smile and flipped him off.

"It's not that bad, Ax," Kairi said in a feeble attempt to dislodge her brother's surliness as the train shuffled away from the station. "Auntie Tifa's not, like, a serial killer or anything. She's not that bad. Well, except for that time when she tied a bunch of sparklers to your hair and made you run around the block, but that's only 'cause you made her mad." Upon seeing her sibling's face droop even further, she brandished her magazine, slapping him upside the head with it. "Look, get over yourself. Tifa won't hurt you. And if you think I'd let her, you've got another thing coming." Kairi said firmly. She looked like quite the bruiser in her too-tight jeans and neon sweater, chin tipped up to show that she meant Serious Business.

Axel felt himself overcome with affection and small joy and other warm-n-fuzzy feelings for his sister and ruffled her hair. "Aw, Kai, you're all heart. Knew you loved me."

Kairi twisted away from him, folding her bony knees underneath her as she re-opened her generic teen-girl magazine. "Okay, whatever. Don't touch the 'do." She flicked past the pages in her magazine. "Wanna find out if your crush is into you?"

And so, Axel's Cruel and Unusual Punishment That He So Totally Didn't Deserve birthed itself in the shape of _Seventeen_ magazine.

* * *

Look at this newly-made review button. It looks sooo stylish, does it not? Press it. C'mon, you know you want to. How can you even stifle the intense urge to? Go ahead; indulge yourself. It's a-okay.


	2. But I'll Be Okay

**Summary:** I've been on top of the world, since about six months ago, marking the first time I laid eyes on you.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it. I don't own 3OH!3, or Kingdom Hearts. But I do own a pretty sweet Roxas pin. Ooooh, yeah.

**Author's Note:** La la la la. It seems that this was enjoyed by the readers, so here is the second installment. Have an enjoyful New Year!

* * *

**II. But I'll Be Okay**

Tell your boyfriend,

If he says he's got beef

That I'm a vegetarian,

And I ain't fucking scared of him.

-3OH!3, "Don't Trust Me"

Everyone has a black sheep in the family. It's the crazy uncle that talks to the mice under the cupboard, or the grandmother that had a 'senior moment' and ended up spray-painting the mayor's house. To be sure, the Warner family had more than their fair share—it seemed to be that everyone and their mother had stored their insane relatives within their family. They had crazy great-aunt Maleficent, who had to be locked up for her own good in the local old folk's home, and Cousin Mickey, who looked a bit like a mouse and frequently proclaimed to be a king that had come to "save the world from darkness", whatever _that_ meant.

However, Crazy Aunt Tifa was possibly the most insane of them all…more so because she was completely crackers, and the adults thought she was normal. Oh, but Axel knew—he knew she was a conniving she-devil wrought from the fires of hell, constantly roping people in with her deceptive kindness and good cooking skills. She was just too nice, too _polite_ to everyone, with the exception of Axel. Of course, Tifa and Kairi got along well on some odd female-to-female basis.

Now, she was running approximately twenty-five minutes and fifteen seconds into the station, shirt twisted and hair in a state of casual disarray. She jerked her body to a stop in front of the bench that they sat on, breathing a bit heavily.

"Hi! Sorry I'm late, kids. Lara just told me you'd left the station, and I was handling an order…" Tifa laughed, running a hand through her hair, smoothing it down around her shoulders. She smiled apologetically, smoothing down her shirt and plucking at her shorts. In addition to be a Secret Screwball, Tifa was also in the possession of a type of beauty that caused men and women alike to stop and blink. At the moment, some clueless teenage boy was in the process of spilling coffee all over his perfectly distressed jeans as he gaped. The boy's girlfriend looked none too pleased, but Mister Distressed Denim didn't seem to notice.

The boy moved to the side, trying to get a view down Tifa's shirt, but Axel bounded upwards, positioning himself in front of her. Honestly. Your hot aunt is mentally impaired, and suddenly everyone thinks it's okay to sneak peeks through her clothing.

"AUNTIE TIFA!" Axel bawled into his aunt's ear, yanking her upwards. "It's good to see you. How've you been?" The Distressed Denim boy scowled and shifted again, only to be thwarted by Axel's sudden affectionate attack on his relative, crushing her slighter shorter frame in his arms. "How's your store going? Good? That's great. Yanno, I miss that store—Selphie and Leon talk about it still—oh, hey, remember that time we came to visit and we tied bottle rockets to the shingles?" He noticed the boy still continuing in his valiant quest to see cleavage, and he clutched Tifa tighter and exploded into a magnificent bout of laughter. Its sheer magnificence was founded completely in its sound---something so unnatural that it both disturbed and frightened everyone present. In fact, it was more like a war cry; a raucous noise of **_"KYA HA HA HA!"_** That caused Spilled Coffee Boy to shuffle over to where he couldn't be seen, dragging his boo with him.

"That's nice, Axel." Tifa said slowly, trying to pry her nephew off without appearing to be too creeped out. "Good times. I didn't know you missed the store that much. In fact, it's doing swell. Got new helpers and everything. One of them is here—oh, lord, where is that boy?" She twisted around, effectively dislodging Axel's grip and craning her neck over his shoulder. "Demyx! Get your skinny ass over here!"

"_I'm buuuuusy_!" A voice—Demyx?—howled.

Tifa scowled, placing her hands on her hips. "Demyx Martin! You have five seconds to be un-busy, or I'll dock you a week's pay!"

There was a wet, smacking noise, a small sigh of frustration, and Tifa's unfortunate minion slunk out from behind a wall, pouting miserably. The boys was about Axel's age, give or take a year, and was running a lightly tanned hand through a mess of dirty blonde hair that had been painstakingly sculpted into a mohawk-mullet combination. His jeans were of the distressed persuasion, and could not shield the large coffee stain by the zipper.

"_You_!" Axel hissed, jabbing a finger in the boy's direction.

The boy laughed—a hearty chuckle that seemed to bounce around the area. It was a pleasant laugh that made you want to hear it again, and Axel hated him for it. "Nah, I'm Demyx. Nice to meet you." He extended his hand and Axel stared at it with a mixture of disgust and bewilderment.

"Yeah. I know." Actually, he didn't know. Well, he knew now, so it counted, right?

Demyx's hand lingered in the air, where Axel glowered at it with disgust until Kairi hip checked him out of the way, thrusting her out hand forward for the blonde to shake. "Hi! I'm Kairi and this idiot's Axel. We're relatives of Tifa's." She batted her eyelashes profusely at the boy, taking off her spectacles to make sure that he could see just how pretty her eyes were.

"Demyx's a godsend." Tifa explained as she moved them forward. "Honestly, I dunno what I would've done without him. I'm not there all the time, so it's a huge help. He does the lifting for when the heavy things come in."

"Oh, I _bet_ he does." Kairi giggled, shoving her nonexistent breasts up against Demyx's arm. Axel gagged from his spot behind her, and was quickly silenced by the delivery of a sharp elbow to the gut. "Demyx looks so _well muscled_, and so on. He looks like a _strong_ man, doesn't he, Axel?"

Axel yawned.

"I mean, not like **you**. It's so cool to see someone who's actually got muscles, **unlike you**, Axel. You're just so _thin_. Maybe you and Demyx can bond at the gym."

The elder of the Warner siblings scowled, and said loudly, "What was that, Kai? I'm having trouble understanding you through the enormous piece of lettuce in your braces."

To his credit, Demyx attempted to stifle a snicker behind his well muscled hand. His eyes glinted with amusement and he slipped Axel a broad grin over the top of Kairi's head.

"It's nice that you're all getting along so well. It'll come in handy, seeing as youse'll be working together at the store." Tifa interjected, clapping her hands together. Axel gaped in horror while Crazy Auntie Tifa smiled broadly at them. "It'll be so much fun!"

--

As it turned out, working at Tifa's general store was not a great heap of fun.

At the crack of ten a.m., she burst into Axel's room and pried apart the curtains in his room, despite constant squeals of, "The sun burns! Oh my god, it burns!" Tifa had then proceeded to get all up in his grill, smiling far too widely and cooing, "Up and at 'em, Axey! The store's a'waitin'!"

The morning had only become only more disastrous when he had stumbled into the kitchen and seen a nightmare masquerading as his baby sister across from his corn flakes. She had certainly dolled herself up for the occasion; the glittery eye shadow bounced off of the light fixtures and into his eyes, blinding him instantly—or at least, it would've, if he hadn't already experienced the urge to gouge out his eyes upon glimpsing her bared stomach and plunging neckline, courtesy of Forever 21. Axel's eyes traveled from her trailer park-chic miniskirt and bright pink legwarmers, and promptly opened his mouth to bestow his opinion.

"What the hell happened to you? You look like Maybeline went all schizoid on your ass."

Kairi sneered, leaning forward to snatch toast from the platter and giving Axel a totally unfortunate glimpse of barely there cleavage. He shuddered. God. Sisters should never have boobs. Thank god Kairi didn't have much to speak of, or he would've died on the spot. She munched viciously on her bread and snarled through the jelly, "Yeah, well, let's see who gets the boy, Axel. And FYI, it _won't_ be you."

"I don't want the boy." Axel said peacefully. "I guess I would if I was gay. But, yeah, I'm not." He paused, and added, "So there."

"What about that thing with Leon? Re-mem-ber?" The girl taunted, smirking broadly as they exited Tifa's house and walked up the road to the general store.

Once upon a time, Axel had a "boyish crush" on Leon. He had asked him out, had even offered up a daisy as a method of persuasion. The latter had flatly refused, causing more than a week of sulking and binging on ice cream. The only reason Kairi knew this at all was because he had bawled out the whole story to Selphie on the phone, and the smaller redhead had been listening on the other line. Thus, she flaunted her knowledge at every appropriate turn, like the shameless harpy that she was.

"It's natural for young people to experiment with their sexuality." Axel hissed as they opened up the store, ambling over to the register. "_Natural_. So, yeah, Kairi, why don't you just take that and stuff it up your—"

Kairi suddenly beamed, chirped out, "Hee-eey, Demyx!" and seized the edge of her brother's ponytail, dipping his head backwards. "Listen, retard, don't you dare screw this up. I'm gonna make him my man, and you will not interfere. Ya heard? Do. Not. Interfere." Her eyes narrowed (_Contacts_, noticed Axel, and he felt a bit disappointed) and she let go of his hair, grinning broadly as she skipped off towards Demyx (who was looking blonde and perfect in his coffee-free jeans).

"Hi, Kairi. What's up, Axel?" Demyx laughed, waving at them. Kairi snuggled her way behind the register and twittered like a moron at the casual display of his sheer wit ("You wanna man the register?" "Tee hee!").

Axel wished him a swift death. Preferably by being suffocated by Kairi's raging hormones.

While Kairi lost brain cells by swooning over Demyx, Axel decided to be a man and take charge of the register. The customers seemed to be rather easy-going and lethargic…up until they witnessed his inability to calculate exact change within three minutes. Then they became scowling masses of old geezers who griped about "how long does it take to gimmee the damn change for the damned Ajax, jaysus!"

Honestly. "Patience is a virtue." Axel growled at a middle-aged woman as she stalked away without her change, simply because he'd gotten confused with the matter of Sacagawea coins. "Like anyone even knows how much those are worth. Jesus."

And then, the heavens opened, and down descended an angel.

One who only purchased a fifty cent pack of Bazooka Joe and paid with a dollar. Easy made change, thank you very much.

And a beautiful angel it was too; a petite, girl with blonde hair cut short and swept to the side in a way that Axel had seen in one of Kairi's Teen Vogue magazines. She appeared to be wearing a flimsy, baby pink top that was coated in sequins and sparkles that bounced off the cheap lighting. Her skirt seemed to be an exact copy of Kairi's, although it seemed just…classier on this softly curved figure than his knocked-kneed fourteen year old sibling. God, she was an absolute goddess…that hair, those lips, those eyes—so impossibly large and blue, fringed by the longest eyelashes he'd ever had the luck to see.

And ohmigod, she was talking. To _him._

"Hey, babe." She cooed, leaning forward to slide change across the counter.

Axel tried to think of something awesome and cool and thrilling and came up with the proud exaltation of, "Heh heh."

"Hey to you too, Rox. What're you doing here?" Demyx said cheerfully, peeling Kairi off his arm and edging out from behind the counter. Axel was going to yowl his irritation, but Demyx was already placed in front of the blonde beauty, grinning up a storm and chatting up the girl like nobody's business. The redhead managed to choke out, "Hey, uh, I was—"

And then it happened.

Demyx bent forwards, scooping 'Rox' (if that was it, but it seemed more like a cutesy nickname than the girl's actual name) into his manly, muscled arms and lifting her off the floor. He squeezed her around her small waist and kissed her nose.

"Tell me they're brother and sister. It's always a brother-sister thing." Kairi snarled in Axel's ear, bending him down. He nodded wisely and soothed, " 'Course it is. They're just, um, affectionate? Yeeeah."

_Affectionate as in INCEST._

The angel let out a small rupture of laughter, looping her arms around Demyx's neck. She pressed herself closer and whispered, "I just kinda felt like seeing you."

Kairi mimed vomiting. "_Cheap whore_." She coughed, plastering on a wide smile when the two looked her way.

"Aw. I missed you too." Demyx cooed in reply, nuzzling his woman's neck.

Just when Axel and Kairi thought it couldn't possibly get anymore syrupy and sickening, the love of Axel's life (for all of the two point five minutes she had occupied it) wiggled upwards and planted a firm kiss on Demyx's lips.

And they stayed like that.

…For quite a while.

Axel's heart neatly broke itself into three pieces. For him, Kairi, and the pathetic thought that he'd ever thought of having a shot with Demyx's Totally Hot Girlfriend. He turned to Kairi so they could commiserate properly, but the small red haired girl was too busy glowering to notice.

"That…_slut._ I can't believe her! What has she got that I don't?"

_Um…beauty beyond human understanding and a nice ass?_

"Rise above it." Axel advised, feeling the urge to be brotherly, or at least ward off Kairi's insane anger on the love of his life (hey, just 'cause she was hot and Demyx's girl didn't mean he couldn't try).

"Stuff it, bean pole." Kairi snarled, leaping over the counter in a dramatic and amazingly nimble way that could be linked to years of gymnastics. "I don't care if she's fuckin' _Princess Diana_. It's _on_."

* * *

**A/N:** Woooooah. Chick fight, chick fight! I was kinda worried about Tifa's characterization, because I've never written her before, and I kept thinking, "Oh God. This doesn't sound like ker!" But I think it came out pretty decent. Aaaanyways, I'd think of something witty and clever to say about reviewing, but yeah--I got nothing. Just do it? Por favor?


	3. Crime & Punishment

**Title**: Pure Sunshine

**Summary:** I've been on top of the world, since about six months ago, marking the first time I laid eyes on you.

**Pairings:** Akuroku, et al.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Kingdom Hearts. Nor do I own T-Pain's "Buy You a Drink", which frankly, I don't particularly want. No hate towards T-Pain, but...yeah. No thanks.

**A/N:** So, yeah, I finished this chapter. I had some conflicted feelings towards posting this, mainly sour-based feelings and irrational logic. I thought about stuff like, "Why should I update? Nobody reviews!" and other whiny subjects that no one wishes to hear about. Aaanyways, I managed to get off my duff and write, so here it is.

* * *

**III. **Crime & Punishment

I could wholesome

I could be loathsome

Guess I'm a little bit shy

Why don't you like me, why don't you like me

Without making me try?

-Mika, "Grace Kelly"

Leon was not given to answering his phone during work. Of course, Leon wasn't given to doing much of anything, but that's irrelevant. His employer was a hot-tempered old man who had sworn that he would "chop off yer damned limbs and use 'em for spare car parts" if he dared pick up his cellular device during his working hours. Feeling a bit sullen (Leon loved his precious Motorola more than his car and significantly more than his friends), the leather-clad brunet had picked up when _"Speed Over Beethoven"_ had burst through the dingy work office.

Cid had fairly flown through the air, sparking a decidedly un-cool yelp from Leon. He had snatched the phone away and sneered, "No answering the phone during work! Brat."

Leon had cried. Well, as much as he could—which meant narrowed eyes and a slightly down-turned mouth.

Oh, but now he had his beloved cell with him, and would continue to keep it in his possession, as long as it didn't ring or make any visible noises that could be detected by Psycho Cid and his little toadies. All was right with the world, or to be more accurate, in Cid's Repair Shoppe.

And then, of course, Benedict Arnold possessed the phone (karma, thought Leon later; it could only be divine punishment for being snippy with Axel before the redhead had left for Hick Town, USA.) and belted out the chorus of some top-50 chart-topper that he couldn't remember the name of. But he distantly remembered Axel recording it, with the excuse that, _"Hey man, it's like, my theme song. The theme song for hot men!"_

And so, when T-Pain broke out his romantic ballad, he wasn't so surprised to see the caller i.d. popping up. _Call from_…**Mister Sexy**.

The ears of several employees perked up.

"Boy," they heard Cid growl from the garage, "that better not be your cell phone."

Leon fumbled with its velour casing, causing it to fall to the floor, where it proclaimed that it would buy him "a drrrraaaaank". Cursing under his breath, he toed it futilely with the underside of his penny loafers. This only seemed to increase the volume, and T-Pain sang like he had never sang before (and this is saying something, because he never sings. T-Pain raps.) and made an odd wheezing slash whistling slash what-the-heck-was-that sound and proclaimed to the room at large that he endeavored to take Leon home with him.

Leon took one look at his co-workers and felt himself die a bit inside.

"I," boomed Cid from the garage, cutting through the rap like some sort of holy figure (if holy figures swore like sailors, threatened to dismember minors, and were all around grouchy), "am giving everyone in this room the chance to get a raise. First one to quiet Squall's damned fuck-job of a phone gets it."

Nobody moved, but everyone's eyes slid towards Leon's traitorous phone.

"I'mma get you home with me." The artist pleaded with the audience. His poor audience was duly unimpressed, as could be seen by the sudden death match for the Motorola. It was made worse by Cid, who now stood in the doorway, smiling maniacally and waving a fifty for all to see.

--

Leon tried his hardest. He fought the good fight; he wrestled his way through the ravaging hordes of Cid's vicious lackeys and fought bravely for his beloved communication device. But his opponents were fierce, egged on by the prospect of a fifty dollar raise and the sadist pleasure of maybe seeing the younger man shed a few tears after the phone was re-confiscated.

Cid remained in the doorway, smiling peacefully. The office kids loved a bit of a rumble.

Leon's Motorola, oblivious of the struggle that was going on, sang on about alcohol and girls and beds and more girls. An intern's hand casually scraped at it, and nearly lost the use of their entire appendage via Leon's teeth. The brunet was climbed over, clawed at, and generally manhandled without his explicit permission; someone even had the nerve to try to cop a feel when he scrambled for the door.

Cid was, to put it politely, quite perturbed by Leon's almost-victory. **"WHAT THE FUCK!"** the older man roared, making stabbing motions in the air with his money. **"DO YOU DIPSHITS WANT THIS OR NOT?"**

Leon began to feel a bit panicky. The minions' fervor had decreased, but the glow of getting a raise (for Cid was stingy with cash, and usually paid around five dollars above minimum wage) was slowly returning to their eyes. Their gaze swiveled to the panting Leon, who growled, "If you come any closer, I will end every last one of you. Is that clear?"

The room went silent.

"…I don't want it that badly."

"Yeah, me either. Who cares?"

"I do. I need to pay for Child Support."

"Lester, you don't _have_ any children."

Once safely outside the shop, Leon opened his cell phone and breathed, "…Hello?"

"Hey, is this you? Because this is totally me, okay?" Axel chirruped into the receiver.

Leon sucked in air through his nose, and then let it out. He took a moment to find his inner peace-core, or his chi, or whatever the hell Selphie babbled about when she forced them to watch yoga exercises with her (a bit of a contradiction, as they never performed yoga. They just sat on the couch and watched other people do it.). He calmly let go of the stress in his body and said serenely, "You better have a good reason for calling me, Axel. If it's not something grievously important, I will shoot you."

Axel sighed into the phone loudly, causing the static to crackle in Leon's ear. "Okay, well, remember Kairi? Tiny, red hair, given to dangerous bursts of anger? Well, she's having a bit of a…tussle. With another girl. Over a boy."

"…Is that so." Leon replied, eyeing the window. From the other side, Cid was pulling faces and making rude gestures. He turned around, shifting the phone to his other ear. "Remind me, Axel, why I ought to care? I'd also like it if you could give a reason not to drive all the way over to Hicksville and pick out your spleen."

"…You love me? I'm adorable? I might be in mortal peril and will possibly perish?"

The brunet sneered. "I can only hope that you will. Hopefully you'll be reincarnated as something more pleasant."

Axel's voice dropped a notch, leveling out to a low tone that he reserved for Serious Discussions. "Leon, c'mon. We're friends, aren't we? _Best_ friends. And best friends don't let other best friends down when said best friends are having trouble only because the other best friend won't help out his biffle. It's just downright _selfish_. And possibly a violation of the BFF rule."

"I…didn't understand that. Any of it, in fact. What's a biffle?"

"The point, Leon—and oh, am I getting to it, 'cause I am so getting to the point right now, okay?—is that you have to help me. Because Kairi looks like she seriously might kill someone, and I don't have enough money to cover medical bills or to bribe anyone who might see." Axel pleaded, coating his statement with ooze of "Woe is me" that nobody actually fell for. Back at the store, Axel held up his phone to the air. "Listen, okay? Just listen. You'll see that Kai means business."

Leon paused. In the background, he could here a young, girlish voice giggling, "Ohmigod! I like your hair; is that a direct copy from Vogue? Or is it from the Sassy Spring issue from Cosmopolitan? I can't remember but it looks sooo good on you!"

And then, a soft, deeper voice replying, "Um…thanks? I like your nails. They're very…pink."

"I _know_, right?!"

Axel yanked the phone back to his ear. "Females are devious, yeah?"

Leon sighed. He hunted for his inner peace-core, found it missing, and gave up. In an attempt to be civil and more best-friend-y, he said slowly, and with a great deal of love (that was unintelligible to anyone with a heart and feelings from love, but it's the thought that counts), "You're an idiot. Don't ever call this number again."

"But…!"

"Do you enjoy seeing your intestines being used as a necktie?"

"…No?"

"I didn't think so."

--

It didn't go over well when he phoned Selphie either. She picked up the phone, squealed a greeting into the receiver, and then announced, "I'm going to hang up now, 'kay? Bye-bye!"

"Wait, what? Why?"

"Leona told me not to talk to you 'cause you're a raving crack head. Did you hurt his feelings again? You know how sensitive he is."

"Leon's not sensitive. He's a robot. A heartless one."

"Mmm, possibly. But he'll be mad, so—bye. Love you long time, Axey!"

"NO, SELPHIE, DON'T—Aw, shit."

--

Most people wouldn't have fretted over whether or not two girls could possibly get into a fight, but Axel did. The Smackdown That Never Was worried him more than actually spotting his sister introduce her fist to his angel's face. He shot anxious looks at Kairi for the rest of the day, up until Demyx cheerfully suggested that they close up shop for the night. She hadn't said a word since The Hour of the Blonde Beauty, and hadn't even threatened him with bodily harm when he ruffled her hair on the way back to Tifa's house.

Axel was feeling nervous. A quiet Kairi meant a sulky, depressed Kairi. This meant Kairi would spend a great deal of time moping, crying, hogging all the ice cream and making everyone in her vicinity feel awful and horrible as she griped about how fat she was getting and how ugly and stupid and unfriendly she must be for that one boy to not reciprocate her childish feelings of "lurve". Feeling like he ought to say something appropriately sage and big-brother-like, Axel touched her forearm gently. "Kai," he said softly. "Look, I know you're hurting, but listen up. The Game of Love is risky business and—well, I've played it before, well, okay, not really, but the point is, Kairi, that someone once told me something wise."

Kairi sniffled, drawing one of her toothpick arms across her nose. "What?"

"The grass is always greener on the other side." Axel said triumphantly, grinning down at her.

Unfortunately, this sparked a most negative reaction. Kairi narrowed her eyes and proceeded to attack her elder sibling with her oversized purse, slapping his face from side to side in a way that ensured a neck brace in the future. "What're you trying to say, Axel?" she shrieked, landing a well-aimed hit on his skull. "Are you saying that Roxas is prettier, that I can't get Demyx just 'cause she has a bigger rack and nice legs? Are you trying to say I'm fat, brother dear? Are you? ARE YOU?"

"No." bleated Axel, trying ineffectively to ward off Kairi's possessed attacks. "Christ, Kai, chill out. I didn't say you were fat!"

"You called me FAT just now!" Kairi screeched, managing to look tearful, appalled, and severely angry at the same time. At least, to the trained eye she was. To Axel's significantly untrained eyes, she merely looked as if she was suffering from a strong bout of cardiac arrest or mild constipation. "You called me obese! You just said that my **ROLLS OF FAT** are blocking the sun like a frickin' lunar eclipse!"

"Um, _wow_, no." he said, blinking. "What are you on? Honestly, Kai, crack is bad, no matter how cool Pence makes it look—"

"And now you're calling me UGLY!" she wailed, feeling quite beside herself. She executed a one-two slap with the underside of her sandals to Axel's face and kicked him viciously in the shins before yowling maniacally, "I hate you, Axel! Stupid! Moron! Loser!"

Bursting into tears, Kairi turned on her heel and fled to Tifa's house, sobbing loudly for the benefit of those who could hear.

Axel began limping to the house, where he could hopefully be offered a couch to nurse his injured limbs on and an ice pack for his face (seriously, what did Kairi keep in there? It felt like a load of bricks. It probably _was_ a load of bricks.), when Tifa met him at the door, looking appropriately crazy and scarily incensed.

"Kairi told me that you called her _fat_." she said coolly, standing akimbo. Behind her, Kairi wailed and gurgled something pitiful while looking strangely pleased. It was well-known within their family that while Crazy Aunt Tifa was a generally mild-mannered, she had little tolerance for the mockery of women or remarks that could be labeled as one of the Irreparable Isms (racism, sexism, and ageism being a few. Axel supposed there were more, but he couldn't think of anything off the top of his head.) Voicing one of the dreaded Isms provoked sweet Auntie Tifa into a whirling dervish of cool rage.

Axel had found out the repercussions of the forbidden act a couple of years ago, when he had called Kairi a "mad cow" during a heated debate. Tifa had tied sparklers to his hair and made him run around the block while she followed behind in a car, shrieking for him to repent.

Axel gulped. But he was safe this time, right? He hadn't called Kairi anything, hadn't done anything wrong. Well, except for the lame advice (and that was Selphie's fault anyways. She had said it once and Axel had thought it was cool.). "Uh…no?"

"You don't sound quite sure of yourself." Tifa replied, still fixing him with the icy brown stare that his own mother used from time to time.

"I just told her that the grass is—"

"Drug use?" Tifa said sharply, drawing herself up. Even if she straightened up, she was still quite a bit smaller than her nephew, but this didn't stop him from cowering. "There'll be none of that here, alright? This isn't some sort of haven for crack-dealers and doobie-strikers."

"I'M NOT A DRUG DEALER!" Axel wailed, flailing in an alarming fashion. "I'm a D.A.R.E. graduate! I wrote the essay and everything!

Tifa sighed. She ran a hand through her hair and leaned back, coming up with a fluorescent purple sleeping bag. "Here, Axel. You'll need this."

Axel stared at it with something akin to horror. "How come?"

Tifa clapped him on the arm. She wasn't in a Towering Fury (thank god), but she was still irritated if the tic in her eye was any clue. "You're sleeping outside tonight, my man. Night-night."

As she made to close the door, Axel leaped forwards, sticking the toe of his high tops in the crack. "What the _fuck_ are you talking about?" he countered. "I didn't say _shit_ to Kai! She's _fucking pulling this out of her ass_!"

Tifa just looked at him sadly. "Axel, this is hurting me and Kairi more than you. You'll thank me for this later, when you meet that special girl."

Like hell it was. Kairi looked absolutely tickled pink about her brother having to sleep in a pansy-ass sleeping bag in the yard. Tifa herself didn't look too sorry, either.

"Sweet dreams." Tifa chirped, tossing the sleeping bag on the porch. She wedged Axel's toe out of the door's way and waggled her fingers at him in farewell. "Oh, and Axey? You need to put a dollar in the swear jar come morning. Buh-bye now!"

--

Back in Twilight Town, Leon's phone vibrated on the table top, nudging itself towards the cup of tea at the corner. It lit up, gracing its company (consisting of Leon, Selphie, and Selphie's stuffed animals) with the newly-installed ring tone of _"Kill Him Now"_ by Son of a Tragedy.

"Who's that?" Selphie asked curiously, leaning across the table. She turned the Motorola towards herself, viewing the caller i.d. screen with interest. _Call from_…**An Obvious Retard**.

"It's not worth picking up." Leon said, in response to her question. "The voice on the other end will spark the need for honorable suicide."

Selphie frowned, staring intently at the screen. It seemed rude not to pick up when someone called; let along purposely snub it. What if the person on the other end was in terrible danger? What if the torture they were going through was simply unimaginable to the human mind, and they were using their waning strength to dial Leon's phone and relate their dying wishes?

She shrugged and held out her daisy-patterned tea pot. "More tea, Leon?"

"Yes, please."

* * *

Will Axel survive the great outdoors of Tifa's backyard? Can Kairi get by with a little help from her friends? Will Leon ever learn how to play nice with others? Probably not, but we can still hope.

The key to all your innermost desires is in the review button. Yes, just in the review button.


	4. A Spot of Bother

**A/N:** Oh, did you miss this piece of loveliness, darlings? I KNEW IT. This chapter took abotu forever and five days to finish, and at first I was going to hold off until I finished chapter two of _Yeah Boy & Doll Face_, and wrote that AxelRiku shottie. Then I thought, "Eh, whatever. Does it really matter?" I have come to the conclusion that no, it does not.

* * *

**IV**. A Spot of Bother

Don't even know what I'm trying to prove

It's a shame, but you know that it's true

My one regret is you, and everything

That you've put me through

-Love, Robot "Phonecalls & Faceplants"

Contrary to popular belief, Selphie and Leon weren't the awful friends that they sometimes made themselves out to be. Selphie had been known to admit on more than one occasion that she cared very deeply for Axel, and her carefully constructed system of relentless badgering and exploiting him at any given chance was a symbol of the love she had for him. Even Leon confessed to "not hating him" at one particular gathering (the fact that this was only brought about by a severe lack of sleep and underage drinking is totally irrelevant). Honestly, they thought that their relationship with Axel was of a caring variety, and that they were doing their best to help him grow as a person.

So, when Axel phoned Selphie at approximately 10: 45 p.m., she restrained the urge to screech irritably into the receiver and said instead, "Hullo, this is me. Is that you?"

"It is!" Axel said jubilantly on his end of the phone. "Selphie, I need your help like whoa. I'm at a two-way street, which direction should I take?"

Now, a bad friend would hang up the phone or mutter a long-list of anatomically impossible suggestions of just what he could do with that two-way street, but Selphie is a good friend. This is why she twisted around in her blanket and prodded the brunet beside her awake for help in aiding Axel's decision. Upon being awakened, Leon grunted, "Tell him to stop breathing. That's the direction he ought to take."

Selphie turned back to her phone. "Leon says to take the left one."

"Oh, okay. Hey, why's Leon at your house? Are you doin' something diii-iii-rty?"

Silence.

"Um, Selphie?"

More silence.

"I was kidding, yanno. Um…"

There was an odd choking noise, a harsh whisper that may or may not have been, _"Hang up, **NOW**."_ and the dial tone introduced itself to Axel's ear canal.

--

"Mom, I don't know if you've noticed, but your sister is a madwoman. She locked me out of the house! And it's really, really cold. And dark. I can't see anything, and my flashlight stopped working and it looks really, really sketchy around here and my rape whistle totally died just now and—"

"Axey? Is that you?"

"No."

"Don't get smart with me, young man!"

"Would you prefer I get stupid, Mom?"

--

The world was conspiring against him; of this he was rather certain.

His so-called "best friends" seemed even more bent out of shape than usual, and even his mother had failed to be appropriately maternal and loving, instead opting to snarl, "Don't be cheeky, Axey!" before blowing a kiss to the receiver and hanging up on him. His aunt had kicked him out of the house for committing an offense that hadn't even occurred, and he was out in the cold, shivering in his neon purple sleeping bag (otherwise known as the Fruitiest Object Ever) and completely lost.

Admittedly, the last bit was his fault. He had wrapped up in the sleeping bag and hopped off in a Towering Fury that could match his aunt's, deciding that the best course of action would be to run away. Yes, he would run far, far away…and wouldn't Crazy Aunt Tifa be teary when she realized that her beloved nephew had flown the coop? And it would be all her fault! Hers!

Axel could practically see the funeral scene laying itself out for him now.

_Rain threw itself against the windows of the church, making it look particularly dark and depressing. Axel lay in his casket while his mother sobbed over his dead body and moaned, "Oh, Axey! I'm so sorry for not listening to your pleas against Tifa's madness! You were right, she's completely crackers—and I never gave you that raise in your allowance either! Oh, darling, I am sooooo soooo-ooo-rrry!" _

_Crazy Auntie Tifa yowled her disagreement from the back of the church, where she was wrapped up in her straitjacket next to Demyx. He was in the process of spilling coffee down his jeans and gibbering like the idiot that he truly was._

_Kairi came up next and promptly threw herself on Axel's chest, sobbing loudly. She had to be forcibly removed by Leon and Selphie, who managed to stop and convey their regrets before wrestling his sister away from his dead, dead, (so dead!) body. _

_And then there was Demyx's girlfriend, rising from the back of the church like the angel that she is, clutching a handful of lilies to her heaving bosom. She lifted up her lace veil, and pouted her lips at his corpse. Into his ear, she whispered,_ "Watch where you're going, stupid!"

Axel jerked himself out of his mock-funeral and gaped. Eh?

"I said, _watch_ it. Honestly, what kind of moron closes his eyes when walking? GAWD."

He'd never been much of religious person, but checking out his surroundings made him quite aware that Someone Upstairs liked him enough to bestow a gift upon his unfortunate person.

Before him stood The Hottie with a Body (otherwise known as Demyx's main squeeze) from the past afternoon, wearing an oversized cardigan and a frown. She was shining a flashlight in his face and tapping the underside of her flip-flops against the ground, gazing at him expectantly. When Axel proceeded to ogle her, she prompted, "…So?"

Axel gaped. _OhMyGodShe'sTalkingToMe!_

The Blonde Beauty sighed, and Axel immediately busied himself with staring at her open mouth. The lower lip seemed to be fuller than the top one, and the flesh shimmered with some sort of indescribable sheen. Lip gloss, maybe. Or Chapstick. He'd be totally chill with that, he loved Chapstick. Especially on _her_ lips.

"Gimme one good reason why I shouldn't call the cops. It's late, and you've been standing outside my house for the past half-hour, humming and smiling." Miss Lovely snarled, poking him rather roughly in the chest with her mammoth-sized flashlight. In the five seconds that Axel didn't respond, she tacked on, "Sometime this year would be grand, okay? That would be just peachy keen." And then, she got all up in Axel's face, practically dislocating her neck to look up into his eyes. Trying to be so, so intimidating. Trying to act all bad-cop with the not-really creeper on her lawn.

Her aim might've been to instill terror in him, but Axel felt nothing short of infatuation.

"Most people start things with their names. In case you didn't know."

"My name? Uh." There was a terrifying moment in which the hem of his Delectable Darling's (he'd have to learn her name soon…coming up with catchy compliments was both hard and distracting) sweater shifted up the side of her hip, revealing a sliver of smooth skin and nothing more.

Axel's brain ceased to function, and he retaliated with the impressive reply of, "Wuh-huh?"

"Your name, stupid, your name. I can't just call you Mister Creeper, can I? I mean, I guess I could, but that's rather rude." The blonde continued, rolling her eyes. She gestured wildly—and rather uselessly, but as this movement was currently baring her right shoulder, Axel was _so_ not complaining--- and gave this tiny, exasperated 'hmph!' that blew several strands of hair up and over the bridge of her nose. Axel kept up a rather impressive depiction of idiocy, opting to ogle her person before realizing that his "beloved" was approximately .375 seconds away from either calling the police or maiming him.

He ransacked his mind viciously for his name, but then the girl went and blinked—and oh god were her eyelashes thick, and they cast the tiniest shadows on her cheekbones---and he lost the battle.

"…Edgar?" Axel proposed, shrugging. He went through another nano-second of mind-searching for his surname and said triumphantly, "Warner!"

The blonde stared. Probably amused. Most likely not.

"What's yours?" Axel asked, beaming broadly at the shorter teenager. He had successfully come up with a name (even if it wasn't his own, and a small niggling feeling at the back of his head told him that it wasn't even _remotely_ close), and was now managing to uphold a decent conversation. Axel smiled to himself and thought smugly, _I am sooo awesome._

The girl extended a hand. Axel held it gently, not wanting to hurt such a dainty looking appendage, but she apparently had no such qualms; the girl captured it in a rather masculine grip that made him just a tiny bit scared. God, he could feel the calluses on her palm. When was the last time he met a girl with freaking _calluses_?

Of course, there was Kairi from her gymnastics-oriented past and her odd, martial-arts obsessed friend with the awkward haircut—whatsername, Olette---, but they weren't really girls. They just happened to be sacks of blood and flesh equipped with ovaries.

But from the handshake he was receiving, he didn't suppose the Blonde Beauty was exactly the paradigm of all things feminine either.

She grinned; a broad, rapid unfurling of teeth and lips. It was decidedly boyish looking, and would've looked awkward on any face but hers.

"My name is Potts. Roxas Potts."

--

Back in the city, Selphie was rolling around fretfully in her bed. Occasionally, she tugged at the blankets and sheets, twisting them up and around her body, under her chin, and sometimes into her mouth.

Needless to say, Leon did not appreciate her thrashing.

"I'll cut off your legs." He mumbled blearily. He attempted to halt her movement by throwing an arm over her body, but she was more or less ignored him, opting to bat him away before suddenly bursting into tears.

"Jesus!" Leon squealed, in a manner that was neither masculine nor cool-sounding. After peering at the Selphie closely to make sure she hadn't recognized the noise as being from him, he patted her shoulder. "Uh. There, there."

And what did he get for his efforts? A watery glare and a sniffled, "Shut up, Leon! GAWD!" Leon scowled. This whole "be kind to a friend when they are in need" thing was highly over-rated.

"You're so stupid." Selphie ranted at him, pummeling his thigh with her small fists. "This is your entire fault! What if Axey's been abducted because of your—stupidity? GAWD, Leon, why'd you have to go and get so STUPID?"

For someone whose intelligence was being insulted at 11:17 p.m., Leon thought he was being rather kind when he replied softly, "…What you jabbering about, woman?"

Selphie, however, did not appreciate the sentiment and proceeded to clobber him over the head with one of her stuffed bears. "Us, Leon! Or more specifically, _you_! _You _made _me_ hang up on Axey-waxey when he was in a spot of bother! He could've been assaulted and battered and _kidnapped_!"

"Let's not jump to conclusions," soothed Leon, patting the brunette's shoulder. "Axel is so ugly, nobody wants to catch a sideways glimpse of him, let alone go through the ordeal of abducting him."

She glowered at him.

"I mean," he backtracked hastily, "that he's fine. Uh. He's just…swell."

Selphie worried her bottom lip and fisted her hands in the sheets. Sighing, she whimpered, "I'd feel loads better if I could just _call_ him…" and cast a longing glance at their shared pillow, where Leon's Motorola lay next to her stuffed animal collection.

Now, Leon was not a cruel person. He had played prey to Selphie's whims many times in the past, had even indulged the girl in her favorite past-times (which included, but were not limited to: conducting tea parties, shopping at the mall—which may or may not include purchasing clothing---, and watching exercise videos). He was even prone to engaging in the occasional tête-à-tête over Selphie's pathetic excuse for pound cake and sugar-free/zero-calorie/none-of-the-good-stuff-in-it lemonade while she sobbed and complained about school, Axel, or her past fling that had called her up one day and made "a freakin' booty call, I swear!"

(The last one had included Leon paying a visit to the aforementioned fling's house with a wooden bat, but that was neither here nor there.)

Over their years of friendship, he had held her hair back as she puked into a toilet (the aftereffects of an unfortunate house party that Axel had staged, obsessed about, and then promptly forgotten), wrangled with her ex-boyfriends, and defended her from sadistic bullies and the occasional touchy-feely Chemistry teacher. He had even spent time helping her color-coordinate her outfits when she went through her "OMG-I-simply-_must_-wear-the-same-color!" phase.

But now, their friendship was finally being put to the test (although there was that one time when they tried to make an indie film and Leon had found himself in a leather cat suit) after all these years.

This was it. This was what it all came down to.

Selphie slid another glance towards the Motorola and said sweetly, "…May I?" She widened her eyes at him and batted her eyelashes, lower lip wobbling dangerously. Must underneath her plea contained a vicious promise of, _Or I'll slit your throat._

Leon choked on his own saliva. "…Sure, go ahead." He was not going to cry. He was _not_ going to cry. He struggled to hold back the urge to jump the petite girl as she happily punched in Axel's number, bopping her head along to the call-waiting music. There was a small clicking noise, and then:

_"Hey, you've reached Master Axel. I'm currently wallowing in despair so I can't come to the phone right now…oh, look, there's a nice ditch only a small distance away! I think I'll go lie down in it, maybe I can get run over. HOPEFULLY."_

Selphie screamed and threw the phone at the wall.

--

Hayner was in the middle of his daily moping routine. He was just finishing up his hourly internal weeping when his phone vibrated; signifying that Kairi or "Bitchface" as he sometimes affectionately (and sometimes not) was sending him a text message.

**SOS!** Her anxious text said. **Mission: KHOP Formation Fort Tifa. Attack of the Blonde Bimbo/ Sexy Older Guy.**

Hayner's lip curled. Honestly, he thought they'd grown out of the KHOP Formation thing when they were like, twelve. They were going to be sophomores soon; Kairi couldn't be flying into a tizzy over every girl who made a move on the current apple of her eye. Well, he guessed she could, but it wouldn't be cool, having to calm down a raging Kairi every six months when she spotted some decent looking guy.

Almost instantly, Kairi sent another message.

**PS: know Seifer's in France. Don't pretend u have stuff 2 do.**

Hayner scrambled for his phone's touch-pad, but Kairi was quicker, sending over responses faster than he could blink.

**Ur prbly just being lame & moping & yelling ppl.**

He winced.

_STFU, KAI. Gawd. Coming._

**;-) Good boy.**

--

At his home, or his "crib" as was his wont, Pence was currently entering Phase Three of the Gaming Stupor. His eyes had started to glaze over from climbing to the seemingly endless levels presented to him by _The Heartless Kingdom_, and he was only being kept awake by the vast supply of Mountain Dew and Twinkies. He had attempted propping his eyelids up with toothpicks but upon stabbing himself in the eye, realized that it'd be better (if not healthier) to chug Mountain Dew and Monster every twenty minutes. This might have seemed strange to some, but this was practically Pence's religion.

So, really, there was no call for Pence's garbled list of profanities when Kairi called him.

"Pencey, baby!" she trilled into the phone. "How ya doin'?"

Pence snarled. "Level 55."

"That's GREAT. Anyways, Team KHOP is meeting at Auntie Tifa's house ASAP, kay-kay?

"_Level 55_."

"Keen, aren't you? Hey, where's Olette? She's at your house, isn't she—unless you pissed her off again and she's at the dojo, leaving you girlfriend-less and alone and being comforted by Hostess and your video games?"

There was a droning sound as Pence dropped his controller and the game ended, flashing its merry transcript of **'YOU LOSE'**. "Geh," he said furiously into the receiver, overcome with the loss of Level 55 (_Level 55!)_ and that Kairi was picking the moment when he was Drowning In His Sorrow to poke fun at the fact that eh and Olette had broken up. Again.

"Glad to hear it, Big P." Kairi said approvingly. She made a cooing noise into the phone that was most likely meant to be affectionate and hung up.

Pence bit savagely into his Twinkie.

--

Olette, unlike the other barbarians that she was friends with, was a prompt girl. She was the first to hand in homework and exams, the kind of person who works on the year-end assignment immediately after being handed it and turns it in three months early. She was polite and earnest; the type of girl that adults imagined would rub off on their own rebellious, foul-mouthed children. She was known to be mild-mannered and even-tempered, courteous even to telemarketers and salesmen.

At the moment, this was not one of those times.

"What do you want?" she snapped into her phone, aiming a roundhouse kick at the unfortunate dummy. The dummy's head snapped back, and she noted with grim satisfaction that if it had been a certain person (like, say, Pence), his jugular vein would've exploded. "I'm busy."

"Jesus, O. Are you fighting?"

Olette gave the dummy a vicious upper-cut to the nose. The fabric began to fray. "None of your business, Kai. I only fight when I'm upset. And I—" she paused to execute a spinning hook-kick that caused a neat rip in the center of the dummy's chest. "—am _not_ upset."

"Suuuuuure." There was a pause, and then: "You wanna come over to Tifa's? Like, soon-ish? Preferably within the next forty-eight hours?"

"No." Olette sneered, wiping perspiration off her forehead with the back of her hand. "I don't want to visit you. Ever."

"Great! Earliest train leaves tomorrow at ten-fifteen. Hayner's coming too, so make sure you meet up with him, okay?" Kairi babbled. Her voice was starting to contain that high-pitched quality it got whenever she felt she needed to lie desperately, and Olette questioned, "Is _**he**_ coming?"

He was emboldened, capitalized, underlined, the whole nine yards. It was a serious no-no to put Pence and Olette in the same room when they'd had one of their furious arguments. Expensive things would be broken, parental figures would be angered, and insults would be had all around. The last time Kairi had tried to reconcile the pair, she had been chewed out by a very irritated Olette, who didn't appreciate her efforts whatsoever.

Kairi gulped. "No?"

And there was a god because Olette chirped, "Oh, okay! See you there!" and hung up, humming happily.

Back in the middle of nowhere (otherwise known as Tifa's house), Kairi burrowed her face into the pillow and groaned. She was _so_ dead.

* * *

Will Kairi die by the hands of the irrationally angry Olette? Is Axel going to bunk over at Roxas's to shield himself from the evilness and sinister-ness of the night? Are Leon and Selphie REALLY going out, or is it all a hoax? Will Demyx have a showdown with Axel, complete with bad Western background music and crappy puns? Probably not, but we can dream, can't we?

You know the drill, kids. Review and the world makes itself just that much brighter. Not your's, maybe, but mine certainly is. Brighter, that is.


	5. Absence of Sanity

**A/N: **Guess who's back? Back again! Icchan's back! Tell a friend!

...first person to recognize the song without hitting up a lyrics website gets a special prize! (maybe)

* * *

**V**. Absence of Sanity

Do you know who I am?

Good, neither do I

Got nothing to say,

But if you pay me

I can play the fool.

-Cobra Starship, "Prostitution Is the Oldest Profession (And I, Dear Madam, Am a Professional)"

If this was a second-rate, low-budget Western films made in the early 60s, the setting would probably be a lot more interesting. There would be tumbleweeds gracefully wandering into their midst, coyotes howling in the distance, and sneers would be had all around. The Terribly Brave Protagonist (otherwise known as Hayner) would enter in with an extremely manly swagger, legs spread apart and whirling his firearms like there was no tomorrow. Across the bend would be the Terrifying Antagonist (or Kairi), clad in all of her sequin-laden glory, complete with a lacy parasol and high-pitched laughter. Her cohorts would whimper behind her and look appropriately terrified of Hayner McManly in all of his Western coolness and general bad-assery.

Unfortunately, this was no Western film of the 60s. At the very best, this seemed to be a weepy, giggly chick-flick in the same league as _Mean Girls_ and _Legally Blonde_. It didn't even star Hayner McManly (which, in truth, wasn't actually his surname. Hey, it sounded a lot better than McAllister-Schonn, which made him sound like he was in the process of hacking up a great deal of phlegm.). It starred Pence, Olette, and their dysfunctional teenybopper relationship.

It was fascinating, really. Olette and Pence had gotten together in seventh grade, back when that sort of thing was cool—the dating-kissing-hooking-up sort of thing. Hayner had no patience for that sort of stupidity and took to setting up bets with Kairi as to when they'd break up and free the world of their sugar-coated mushiness. And since Hayner was always right (except in the event when he was wrong and even then he was **still **right, and could blame the wrongly-voiced suggestion on someone else), they did.

But they always got back together. Because of…love or some ridiculously clichéd shit like that. Pence had said as much when he was filming; the brunet had gotten a smack and a fierce reprimand for his troubles.

Now, Hayner was filming _Ice, Ice Baby _(the tentative title, as his other ideas were _Pence Dickerson Must Die_ and _Dirty Romancing_) as Olette and Pence spoke…or, as the case was, didn't speak. He chewed on his lip and angled his camera. "Fuck, guys, do _some_thing. I'm not paying you for nothing!"

Olette didn't even turn around. "Go die, Hay." Her back remained as rigid and as frozen as the Appalachian Mountains…that was good; he should remind himself to stick in some snowflakes or something during the editing process.

"Hey." Pence said, turning slightly. Hayner eagerly shoved the camera back into focus and crouched to the floor, getting a perfect view of Pence's frowning mouth. "Don't be rude to Hayner. He didn't do anything."

"Oh, sure, _he_ didn't! That's because the blame is all with you, Pence!" Olette suddenly surged into life, recovering from her previously icy demeanor like a…um, flower. Something really girly. Holding the camera with one hand, Hayner bent down and scribbled on his thigh, _come up with totally badass metaphor_, before returning to the scene.

"You're always concerned with yourself, Pence, and I, for one, am sick of it! I've made you lunch, I'm copied my notes for you—I even got that stupid mix tap of the Sugarhill Gang for you! And you wouldn't think, wouldn't you,"—and here, Olette drew herself up to her exalted height of five feet---" that a certain boyfriend could remember an anniversary every once in a while? But _noooo_, someone's just so SELFISH and STUPID that he just 'simply forgot'!"

Hayner took a break from filming Olette's stomach for a bit to direct it to Pence's face, the brick wall, and then back to Pence's face….and then the sneaker on his left foot. He'd practically invented alternative filming; those Sundance people were just kidding themselves.

Pence swelled with anger, so much like a…swelling-thing (Hayner wracked his brains for similes and came up with pimples. He decided to put it away for later use.) and jabbed a finger in Olette's direction. "Look, baby—"

"Don't call me baby!" Olette shrieked, alarming at least four innocent bystanders. "Call me _woman_!"

Hayner idly taped a ladybug crawling over his sneakers. Honestly, it was a wonder he even wasted his film on these people. Olette was obviously in one of her weird country-music phases; her statement was probably inspired by some one-hit wonder with an overgrown ponytail and a drinking problem. In hopes of jogging some action, he set up his speakers to blare Macy Gray's "Slap a Bitch".

Meanwhile, Pence was valiantly attempting to recover from his ex-girlfriend's fierce rebuttal. "Oh, uh, sure. Um…" He cleared his throat and straightened the G-Unit chain that laid upon his sizeable chest. "_Woman_, stop spazzing. I didn't mean to forget our anniversary. I was busy recording." He took a couple of steps towards the girl and curled an arm around her shoulders. Smiling fondly, he quipped, "You know how I do."

Hayner held his breath—alright, wait for it, _waitforit_…

"Don't you touch me, Penceval Dickerson! I'm sick and tired of being second to Tupac and Lil' Wayne and-and- _Ludafiss_!" Olette cawed, shoving Pence away. One of her manicured talons nearly ripped a hole in Pence's jersey and he flinched, shying away from her rage.

"Ludacris," Pence said, scandalized. "His name is _Ludacris_. My god, 'Lette!"

His (ex?) girlfriend's face turned a soft shade of pink, slowly winding its way up to a shade of red that matched her purse. Her thin fingers curled into fists, and she seemed to crackle with electricity. Pence appeared to shrink into himself. Olette's chin tilted upwards and her mouth twisted to signify a meltdown of epic proportions—Pence whimpered and then blurted, "Mea culpa, motherfucker—I mean, sweetheart. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea magna culpa."

Olette melted into a pile of sugary, I-luv-mah-bf-goo and oozed her way over to her boyfriend, flinging her arms around him. "Ooohhh, baby, you're sexy when you speak Latin. Say something else."

"Antebellum, persona non grata…uh…Caesar." Pence said smoothly, burying his nose in her hair. Olette giggled and proceeded to perform a series of acts that certainly weren't G-rated on her boyfriend's person.

Hayner was displeased.

[--]

Back in the middle of Nowhere, USA, Axel was attempting to be a ninja.

After a hectic night with Roxas (which didn't include cuddling, heart-to-hearts, hot n' sweaty make-out sessions, or the plotting of Demyx's death), Axel found himself outside of his house, gnawing on a granola bar and attempting to roll 007-style across Tifa's flower garden. As it was very, very early (at the crack of dawn, aka 8:34 am) and Axel was a bit of a spazz, he mostly just fell over and bruised himself.

As he picked mulch from the linings of his boxers, he thought, _I am so fucking cool_.

He decided to turn his swag on (kind of like Soulja Boy, without the fame, sunglasses, and catchy choreography) and ambled up to Tifa's house, accidentally-on-purpose stepping on her tangles of peonies and lavender. After a bit of eyeballing, he attached himself to the trellis and shimmied his way upwards, occasionally knocking birds' nests and flower pots down to break on the sidewalk.

Once on the roof, he inched his way over to what he was perfectly sure was Kairi's room. Even though she'd been a total brat that night before, surely she would help her brother out in his time of need? Definitely. Kairi was a good kid, even if she dressed like a ten-cent hoe and had a small sadistic streak. And even if she was dancing around in a towel, which Axel had told her sooo many times wasn't safe, because some weirdo could be standing outside her window, watching her (kind of like how he was doing now).

Axel rapped on the glass, pressed his face against it and leered, "Kaaaaiiiiirrrriiii."

His sister ignored him, her head bobbing to the music and apparently shouting the words to some Top 40 chart-licker. Axel squinted and noticed that his darling baby sister had dyed her hair black. _Mom's going to flip a shit!_ Axel grinned.

"Kairi, you dumb hoe." Axel mumbled at his sister's back. "Come open the window for your big brother!"

Kairi stopped, cocked her head to the side, and pressed the pause button on the stereo. In a fluid step, she ambled over to the window and yanked it upwards, just in time to hear Axel's happy greeting of, " 'Bout time, bee-yotch. It's so cold outside, my nuts almost fell off."

His darling, kind, lovely baby sister (who apparently was just slappin' on the new changes…the new black hair that looked surprisingly natural, brown contacts instead of her usual baby blues) grinned. "Really? Can I see?"

Axel first thoughts were, _Ew. What. Did _Seventeen_ tell her that incest is in this season?_ Then, _Kairi's not Asian, therefore this chick is not her_, followed up by _Her boobs are a lot bigger than Kai's anyways._

"Um, I'm..." _What the fuck? Why is she here? She's cute, but not as cute as Roxas. No, wait, say something intelligent, you retard. Say something smooth and suave and cool and—_" a ninja. Sorry about my, um, ninja-ness. And your, um, not-wearing-clothes…ness."

[--]

Back at the station, the deadly trio was having a secret powwow session.

All three of them had dutifully showed up, due to being generally good people and Kairi's beloved friends (read: minions), shelled out an unfair amount of cash with little to no fighting, blackmailing, or crocodile tears (except for Olette, and she always fought dirty, leaving Hayner and Pence to split the cost between them for her fare), and were now speeding towards Hillbilly Hell to serve their demanding mistress, aka Kairi Warner.

Pence, because he was probably the most poetic of them all, looked contemplatively out of the window and said breezily, "This fucking sucks."

"Mmm, but it's kind of necessary, you know?" Olette piped up from behind _Newsweek_, her reading glasses askew. "Think elastic clause. It clearly states that all judgments must be deemed necessary and proper, right? And Kairi, albeit using a rather liberal format of the clause, deems her latest romantic escapade as being necessary and proper. Okay?"

Hayner threw his camera bag at her. "Don't mention history during a school break, you hoemonkey. It's offensive to those with low GPAs."

"Hey!" Olette replied, straightening her pleather micro-miniskirt. "I am_ not_ a hoe."

"That's my girl. And she ranks up excellent in Pence's world." Pence said, a bit randomly. Olette beamed at him and schmoozed something appropriately stupid, like _"ooohhh, baby, you're so sweet!"_ Hayner was less than impressed, and said as much.

"Gosh, Hay, you're so dumb." Olette frowned, propping her hands up on her slim hips. She tapped the bridge of the blonde boy's nose, giving him that indulgent smile that made him want to smash her face into a nearby pole. "This is what people who're in love look like. I mean, don't you get that sort of feeling with Fifi?"

(All the way over in France, Seifer Almasy shuddered and felt his masculinity start to ebb away.)

Hayner growled, "Don't call him _Fifi_. His name is _Seifer_, for candy's. Seifer. Freaking. Almasy." He stabbed a nearby pen into the train seat to punctuate the statement.

"What-_eva_, Hay-_ley_." Olette chirped, continuing in her conquest to make every man within a mile radius feel as wimpy and de-masculinized as possible. "Point being is that you wouldn't know romance if it bit you in the ass."

"You lie." Hayner seethed. "I'm romantic. I've even filmed romantic moments on my phone! See!" He scrambled in his satchel (or man-bag, because it had fringe on it, and was acquired through a catfight on the Memorial Day sale at Macy's) and thrust his Razor into the brunette's face triumphantly, clicking on the small caption marked _"Big Love"._

The speakerphone was turned on, and soon the brash tones of Seifer Almasy filled the small room.

_"You want your fries super-sized?" _Seifer's voice echoed, filling the camera's space with a good portion of the older boy's left earlobe.

_"Yeah." _

Olette threw the phone back at him, smiling sympathetically. "That's so sad, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. You poor, poor, baby. This must be why you've been acting like a grandma hyped up on estrogen pills ever since you got together with Fifi."

"SHUT UP, YOU HARPY!" Hayner shrieked—because he was nothing if not loyal to his man—"Seifer loves me plenty! He super-sized my fries, okay? Does PENCE super-size YOUR fries, bitch? I don't think so!"

The girl smirked. "Oh, yes he does. And you know what?" She leaned forward, with a smug grin on her all-too-pretty face. "_He doesn't even need to ask_."

Hayner sucked in a deep breath, and held his neon-green Razor up in the air again, squawking, "Yeah, well, check _this_ out!"

This time, it was of Seifer's navel—Olette really didn't want to know how and why Hayner was filming his boyfriend's stomach—as he said, _"Hey, chickenshit, you're looking lamer than ever. Did you like the new cologne? It's French for moron, so I thought of you when I bought it."_

"He bought me cologne! That's romantic."

"Hayner, you're allergic to cologne. What's the point?"

"He was being thoughtful…and kind…and…awesome. As usual."

"He called you a chickenshit, lame, and a moron all in one breath."

"…That is screwed up, and very wrong." Pence said sagely, twirling his G-Unit chain around a plump finger. "He ought to get shot up on the block." He turned to his best friend and added kindly, "…I'd do it for half a grand."

"Um,_ wow_, no. Pass."

The chubbier boy frowned. "But I could freestyle as I did it! And he'd have a noble death, an honorable death. Like the ones you see on MTV. Think _You Got Served_ meets _Step Up_ with a dash of _Touched by an Angel_ and _High School Musical_. Minus the dancing, drive-bys, celestial beings, action movies, and catchy choruses."

"I could do the soundtrack!" Olette said excitedly. "We could fit some Tim McGraw in, right? And some Carrie Underwood for the death scene—I really like 'Before He Cheats', but I dunno how that'd fit in…maybe we could set him up with a harlot before he dies? It'd be, like, _Catcher in the Rye_ meets _Lars and the Real Girl_!"

Hayner looked a bit ill. "_Pass_, guys, _pass_. Please and thank you."

[--]

The girl was cute (and it helped that it wasn't really his sister in disguise), but not cute enough to make Axel want to be kneeling on the shingles of a decidedly creaky roof, complete with dangerous movements of air. He smiled genially at her and said, "Let me inside?"

The girl chirruped, "I don't _think_ so, mister!" and slammed the window shut.

[--]

"Okay, men. What's the plan?" Olette barked at her boyfriend and best friend, using her lip gloss canister to jab at the clipboard propped up on her thighs. After wasting valuable time on bickering, questioning Hayner and Seifer's placement as a couple, and attempting to phone Seifer _all the way in France_, they'd decided to put together a game plan.

It was called Operation: Kairi Is Nuts And We Should Not Help Her Because Bad Things Will Happen (or OKINAWSNHHBBTWH, and was complicated and could only be properly said by Olette. The boys just called it "Sedate Red" and left it at that.)

"I find Axel and ask him where to find the blonde chick that Kai hates. Then I truss her up like a turkey and whisk her away to watch my homemade movies in Tifa's garage." Hayner supplied. "I do not let her go, or make collect calls to Seifer."

"I approach the apple of Kairi's eye—the older man---and shoot him with a few beaver tranquilizers and stash him in Tifa's garage with his girlfriend. After Hay's films and a few laced sodas, they should fall asleep and drool all over the place. I will take a few photographs for blackmail and draw all over their faces." Pence stated firmly.

"And I," Olette concluded, folding the clipboard back into her purse, "use my feminine charm and prestigious position as Kairi's Best Gal Pal into staying inside all day. I will rope her in with a new cosmetics bag, the latest dish on Brangelina, and the silver-edition of _Organization XII: The Musical_."

Pence gave his girlfriend goo-goo eyes and cooed, "Baby, you're so resourceful."

Olette beamed.

Hayner squinted at the tranquilizers lying in midst of the small darts from Taiwan and _Manipulation for Dummies_ manual in the bottom of Olette's purse. "…Does it bother you that this isn't legal?"

"Jeez, Hay, I never knew you were such a square." The green-eyed girl sneered, squinting at him. "I thought you were up for a bit of insurrection. After all, this is for the greater good, you know?"

"Uh, sure—"

"—I mean, do you want Kairi to commit manslaughter? She'll probably go around axing the first people she meets. Let's set the scene: Kai, ambling about the streets of France, spots a familiar-looking blonde boy, two years her senior, sipping tea and being gay in a comfortable café."

"—Leave Seifer out of this!" Hayner snarled. Olette ignored him.

"—The feared femme fatale takes aim and shoots him right in the back of the head! As Monsieur Almasy collapses on the pure white tablecloth, rose-red blood staining it's…um, whiteness, he breathes his last. _'Oh, Hayner'_ he wheezes, _'I wished thou could've save'st me, your very own petit amour.' _End scene."

The blonde was thiiis close to breaking out into tears, and Olette was thiiis close to erupting into bouts of maniacal laughter.

"Okay, Olette. _Okay_. I'll do it."

[--]

Later, when Seifer checked his phone, he wondered why his Loveable Lamer (as he had plugged Hayner into his phonebook as) and filled his voicemail box with no less than fifteen messages, all about avoiding red-haired snipers in comfortable cafes.

* * *

**A/N:**Will Hayner become the next Woody Allen? Will Olette receive jailtime for importing tranquilizers? How will Axel ever get back into the house--and who is that cruel, mysterious woman? And most importantly--_will Roxas ever have a large role in this shamble of a humor fic?_

The answer you seek lies within the review button. (Oh, gosh, that was pretty anti-climatic. Sorry, kids. Mama's tired.) Oh, yeah, and take the poll. 'Cause it's totally rad.


	6. As Good As It Gets

**a/n:** I PROMISE YOU, I'M GETTING TO THE REVIEW REPLYING. But I thought you'd rather get a new update than a reply at the moment 'cause I feel like it's been a while. And those drabbles I promised certain people...I'm working on them (honest). Anyway...onward, readers!

* * *

**VI.** As Good As It Gets

If you did, say you did it

And if you didn't, suck it up

And say you did.

-The Dresden Dolls, "Mouse and the Model"

In the grand scheme of things, Roxas Potts was deemed to be a slightly luckier-than-average person. Roxas was a middle child, but due to a few familial-based mishaps, his elder siblings had jumped ship (so to speak) and left for towns that could only be visited by a combination of trains, cars, and –sometimes—airplanes. His father was more or less a dead-beat, and showed up a least once every two years to ensure that he wasn't dead and to make himself useful by handing over Child Support to the matriarch. He was now given the pleasure of being the eldest (in the household, if not biologically).

Roxas was a certifiably smart teenager, equipped with beauty, grace, and a National Honors Society badge.

But Roxas lived with a slightly insane mother, a deformed monkey-boy (otherwise known as Chip, the youngest), and was constantly being paraded around the town as someone who owned a uterus. This would've been resting on the plane of not-so-bad if Roxas had actually _possessed_ one.

But he didn't. Boo-fucking-hoo.

Due to a serious of unfortunate events (none of which included three miserable, whiny children and a suspicious looking older man with a tattoo), Roxas had been emotionally and psychologically stripped of his manhood at the tender age of twelve, whereupon his Struggle bats were packaged up in the garage, all notices and offerings of everything from Struggle matches to Football had been fed to the fireplace that his father had built the last time he'd come skulking around, and that the next meet for Varsity Cheerleading and Color Guard was tacked to his bedroom door.

At first, he'd had the average response of, "Mom, what the hell is going on?" when he'd stumbled into his room to see his mother neatly hemming one of Namine's old summer dresses on his bed. He'd turned red and fumed when she'd held it out in front of herself and said, "Roxas, sweetheart, try it on to see if it fits, please?" He'd even cursed a bit at his mother before she turned to him, her blue eyes flashing as she said quietly, "Roxas, dear, _honestly_. You'll never catch a man like that—no boy likes a woman with such a filthy mouth."

And then, Roxas got it. He _totally_ got it.

"Mom's gone crazy," he hissed to his father over the phone. It had taken a few weeks of wrangling the phone number off of Sora (digit by digit, even) and then milking the area code from Namine, who, between modeling sessions and The Photographer From Hell, was nearly impossible to reach. And, of course, there was the matter of duct-taping Chip to his bed, 'cause he was a total snitch. "I'm serious. She put me in a—Dad, I'm wearing a fucking _dress_, okay?"

To be specific, it was a nightgown. One of Namine's old ones—complete with the lace piping and metallic pink coloring.

"Ah." His father said sagely. "That does suck, sport. But you have to understand, after Sora and that thing with the athletic meet…not to mention Namine and the photographer…well; your mother's been a bit stressed as of late. Can you really blame her?"

"Oh, yes." Roxas hissed, clenching the nightgown's fabric so hard the thread began to split. "Yes, I can. Can't you just impregnate her again or something?"

His father laughed. "Hell no! Do you know how expensive children are, Rox? She's gone and popped out four of you, all of which she has an issue with. I'm not spending any more money on _that_."

"You are a failure as a father."

"Yeah, whatever, kid. Go cry yourself a river or somethin'." His father-who-he-was-so-going-to-disown said heartlessly. "I'm totally chill, hanging out here with Elena. Think I'll stay away from your mama if she's gone and taken her crazy pills again."

"I hate you." Roxas seethed. "I hate you so much."

"Great." His father said, and as he yelled back to his current girlfriend to fetch him a beer, and _"don't skimp on the ice, okay, hon?"_ Roxas hung up on him. Reno wasn't much of an authority figure anyways, even with the double-whammy of him being a father _and_ a cop. He was especially useless whenever with current flings were in the background, typically being slutty and knowledgeable in the background. Reno's thing seemed to be dating women with beauty as well as brains—although he'd slipped up with Elizabeth Potts and ended up knocking her up, marrying her, and then watching her drive the entire household to insanity and other evils.

The other evils being his mother's after-school lessons, of course.

Poise & Grace—the Subtle Differences. Makeup 101. The Hitchhiker's Guide to Proper Bargain-Hopping. Bare legs vs. Pantyhose. Tuesdays with Mascara.

By his freshman year of high school, Roxas Emil Potts (_"Just tell everyone the 'E' stands for Emily!"_ his mother hissed in his ear, after scratching out several legal documents) was capable of stopping a run in a fellow friend's nylons, knew how to flirt without coming off as a total whore, and could expertly apply foundation, eyeliner, and mascara within three minutes. He was a renowned cheerleader, regularly winked at in the hallways by everyone from jocks to stoners, and was documented as Radiant Garden High School's "hottest piece of piece of ass" since the double-threat of Sora and Namine, back in the day.

It kind of sucked. Like, a lot.

Roxas never been much of a person to begin with—hey, all he was known for was being relatively decent at Struggling, and it's not as if he ever got his name in the paper, or a photograph or something, like Sora—and he wasn't the kid you'd stop in the hallways and say, "Oh, **wow**!" He was the kind of boy who inspired an "_Oh_."

It was actually kind of sick, Roxas thought, to only garner this much attention when he put on a skirt and heels. To only be stopped in the hallways once he learned how to perfect a smile and how to properly apply blush. That only when his trademark pout was being printed in countless magazines like _Teen Vogue_ and _Seventeen_ that people began to notice him.

Roxas the man, it seemed, came significantly after Roxas the woman.

He'd been part of the Homecoming Court since freshman year, was invited to senior prom as a sophomore, and had been the only fourteen-year-old on the NHS. He didn't wobble in his sister's heels, and his lip gloss was never out of place. His boyfriend was the hottest indie-emo-faux-stoner on school campus, and no one even connected him to the Track & Field Incident, or the Attack of the Butch situation.

"That's really, really sick." Roxas lamented, as Demyx built some sort of cocoon of arms and legs behind him, his blonde head resting against his boyfriend's chest.

"What?" The musician said, kissing the top of Roxas's head. He smiled down on the boy in his lap. "Did you say something, Roxy?"

"No." He hauled himself up and faced Demyx, dropping a kiss on each of his eyelids before murmuring, "Love you."

Demyx's eyes closed in contentment. "Love you too, Nam."

The muscles in his jaw twitched. This was really, really sick.

[--]

Trouble came in small packages—chronologically speaking, it all started with Sora. Sora fit into the 'small' category, being just under the exalted height of 5'9". He was the star of track and field, and was far by one of the most popular people at RGHS—the other being Namine, who was pretty and smart and kind, as well as frequently photographed in catalogues as an up-and-coming model, and Riku, Sora's best friend.

Of course, Sora had to do the whole cliché thing and get caught in the locker room tonguing Riku, of all people. Jeez.

And then the Attack of the Butch came when Namine, just on the cusp of graduating high school and wheeling away from this god-awful town, was photographed for a…lady magazine. Or, you know, if you were his mother, a 'Pictorial Guide for Sapphists'.

It wasn't that it was a naughty picture—just a simple black-and-white of Namine posing with her hair swept to the side. Her arms raised above her head and her stomach bared, (with the exception of the suspenders) clearly showing the tiny print of _'i am your rainbow girl'_ across her midriff.

And then, in case anyone missed the message—the blaring headline. **'MEET NAMINE, NEWEST LEZZIE ON CAMPUS'.**

Yeah, so subtle. Nearly a subtle as the article on Namine's "coming out" and her "darling", Larxene. It wouldn't have been as bad if Larxene had been some cutesy little photographer, but there was no mistaking it; the nearly-flat chest, the smirk captured with her arms around his sister's waist, encircling her closer to deposit a kiss on her temple.

"_Lesbians_." His mother had hissed, edging it into the fireplace. Due to the utter fakeness of the fireplace (Reno couldn't be bothered to actually make a real one), it merely buzzed around the electric, flame-shaped lights before settling to the bottom. It was rather anti-climatic, but his mother made her dramatic exit anyway.

Chip, who was but a little Gerber-baby of five years at the time, looked up and lisped, "What's a lethbian?

Roxas lied, "Um…another name for a best friend."

"Okay." Chip said, satisfied. Then, "What's _gay_ mean?"

"…Friendship. Um." His left eye twitched. "_Special_ friendship."

"Okay." He hopped off the couch and raced to the kitchen, screeching, "Mama! Mama, guess what? Roxas is the bestest lethbian EVER!"

His mother's scream could be heard for miles.

[--]

This was probably when the modeling thing started.

Namine used to model; nothing big, just small-time catalogues, the occasional thing for Kohl's or L.L. Bean. She wasn't the most famous model—she had yet to face the wrath of plastic-injected wraiths angered over losing the battle with time on so-called "reality television" or been caught launching at least half of her internal organs into the nearest toilet, all the while moaning that she wanted to be skinny and perfect. She was a few stocks short of being seriously beautiful (their mother attributed this to the slight gap between Namine's front teeth that gave her cutesy grin that made her look all of twelve), but she had a figure that photographers cooed over and a flawless complexion. She was a very pretty girl, to be certain.

At the risk of sounding conceited, Roxas supposed that all of them were rather good-looking. He wasn't blind—he knew that his face was decent and that his body was as toned as it could be (that is, without making him seem overly-masculine, and due entirely to his mother's barking for him to run faster on the treadmill she'd set up in their basement, complete with a taser that she used solely to threaten him with). Although he was no Namine or Sora—being equipped with a stockier stature and a collection sparse freckles and birthmarks scattered across his skin that his mother clucked at during the shoots—he knew that he ad a certain amount of charm to his smile when he wasn't being sulky or aggressive, as was his wont.

Chip wasn't at the age where he could be considered cute. He was a sticky-faced, demonized little imp that happened to share living space with Roxas.

With the Wonder Twins gone and leaving sparkles (_gay_ sparkles) in their absence, Elizabeth Potts became convinced that she needed to find a new staple for the family's income. Namine and Sora had pretty much held up the entirety of the household with the modeling and athletic abilities combined, but now she was left with Chip (who showed no talents, save for snitching), and Roxas, who was only kinda-smart and in the possession of adequate features and a decent amount of common sense.

It made perfect sense for Roxas to be the new model. With the cosmetics and specially made push-up bra, he looked either very girly or very gay—but the catwalk made him all girl. Swaying hips, little to no smile, the blunt stare. Businesses fell at Roxas's well-manicured feet and practically threw cash at his mother. _"You'll be just like Namine,"_ his mother had said casually, tucking bills into her purse, _"Just like her."_

And he was.

He walked the walk, he talked the talk. He wore her old summer dresses and manufactured the shy giggle she gave to compliments. He could fit perfectly into her old prep school uniform, even wore the star-shaped pendant that Namine'd thrown at their mother the evening of the Butch Attack. He owned her GPA (3.45 exactly), was dating her boyfriend, spent free time helping out in all of Namine's old extracurricular activities—the Go Green club, vice-captain of Varsity Cheerleading, golden member of NHS and student council. He was stopped in the hallway by fellow classmates, be it a appreciatory tap on the ass or a high-pitched, "OMG HI ROXAS!" from his adoring peers.

So what did it matter if his mother sometimes got dewy-eyed and wistfully called him "Nami" from time to time? What did it matter that Demyx—his fucking boyfriend, even though his mother was prone to making the sign of the cross whenever The Gay was mentioned and wanted her offspring to be as heterosexual as possible; it was assumed that she'd forgotten her goal in the process of making Roxas identical to Namine—was content to kiss him and love him and pretend he was his sister every time he saw him?

Roxas pushed the older blonde off of him, manicured nails sweeping across the planes of Demyx's face. "I've gotta go, okay?" he said apologetically, rising from the ruffled bedspread (_Namine's_) and approaching the closet. He began sifting through the clothing, tugging off the flowered blouse that his mother had forced upon him earlier this morning (which had been documented by him forcefully shoving that weird redheaded kid from the store—what was his name? Edgar? Warner?—from the porch swing where he'd slept as his mom lumbered throughout the house, screeching and provoking Edgar's sleepy mumbling as to what was going on and Roxas's irritated whisper-shouts of "_Go go fucking go_").

"Stay awhile." Demyx suggested, tugging at his hips from behind. He tried, in vain, to pull the younger boy back into his lap, but Roxas—forgoing the typical girly reply of gently pushing his hands away and giggling nervously—slapped at his calloused hands and bit, "Don't you have classes or something?"

He smiled. Demyx was one of those people who'd barely made it into the local college and frequently skipped classes, opting instead to be lazy and talented somewhere else. In his case, playing guitar and loitering. "Not until one."

"Liar." Roxas snapped, and only barely remembered to say it playfully. He seized a pair of shorts from the disaster area that was his closet and tugged them on. If he had felt like being girly, he would've squealed _"Turn around, perv!"_ to Demyx; but as it was, he was going to be late and Dem looked rather bored, laying there on Rox—_Namine's_—bed and watching his girlfriend-who-was-really-a-boyfriend get dressed.

He turned around to the mirror and held up a tube top; a sequined, neon-pink thing that implied that Roxas was sassy (or at least, that's what the gold letters said) by the hem. If he had been manlier looking (like Sora), he would've appeared to be very, very gay instead of passing as a skinny girl with an awkward haircut.

"I kind of hate that one." Demyx said from where he was attempting to suffocate himself in the ruffled coverlet. "The blue one's better. Brings out your eyes and shit."

"Fuck you, baby." Roxas said graciously, shimmying into the 'sassy' tube top. "I like pink. It's my _favorite_." FALSE. Roxas didn't even like colors. He liked _clear_ (or was it transparent?) things. Was that even a color?

The musician sighed. "Yanno, _Namine_ was never this—" He stopped, and chanced a look at Roxas's face in the mirror. It had gone stiff and still and was unlike his ex-girlfriend's in the most extreme sense. The word _unfair_ came to mind and he lunged from the bed. He touched the smaller boy's bony shoulder and said softly, "Um."

…and that was pretty much it. It wasn't entirely Demyx's fault. He was just a nice boy whose girlfriend turned out to be a skirt-chaser and was now with his ex's little brother. He'd been subtly threatened into it by said little brother's fearsome mother and was supposed to be nice and kiss him in public and got paid every time he and Roxas were seen in public, acting coupley and ignoring the PDA rule.

He did like Roxas, really (sort of). He was a nice kid (on the inside). A bit surly at times, a bit blank-faced whenever he was concentrating on being feminine or modeling or being the picture-perfect Namine-clone. More than a little bitter and selfish and—kind of lacking in the personality department, to be truthful. Not that he could be blamed; the last time Roxas had seen his personality had been when he was, like, twelve, and even then it could be summed up in "I like sports." and "That Limp Bizkit concert was totally rockin', man, like totally."

Roxas wheeled around before he could say anything appropriately boyfriend-like and hit him full-force with a sugary-sweet smile. "Demy, can you give me a ride? Thanks, babe." He edged forward and dropped a kiss on the older male's nose, snatched up the purse hanging off of his bedside table and skipped off, muttering something between a voodoo chant and Britney Spears's "Piece of Me" under his breath.

Demyx cast an uneasy look about the room and fished his car keys out from underneath the envelopes on the desk, following Roxas at a quick trot.

[--]

"Do you ever feel bad?" Sora asked nervously, running his finger across the edge of his tea cup. Truth be told, he didn't even like tea (and neither did Namine, actually) but Larxene drank it like she breathed and since this was her house, it was all they had to drink. Well, that and soy milk, but Sora hadn't yet stooped so low.

Namine's brow wrinkled. "About what?" She stirred a more than healthy amount of sugar into her cup and blew gently over the surface, looking up at her twin over the rising of the steam.

"Oh, yanno." Sora wracked his brain for a euphemism, came up with nothing, and just continued lamely, "Mom and, yanno…stuff. Loose ends." He snuck a quick look at his sibling to make sure that she wouldn't be tossing around china in an unholy rage and, seeing that it was not the case, let out a relived sigh. Maybe all those hard feelings and bitter memories of Out-Gay-Demons were forgotten?

His sister smiled serenely over the delicate china. "I could care less what that old hag thinks."

Okay, maybe not.

"I just…what about Roxas? And Chip? Mom's probably giving them a hard time." Sora soldiered on bravely. "Not to mention that Reno's…um…" He frowned, trying to use the appropriate adjective to describe Roxas and Chip's father.

"Reno is what is known as 'unhelpful'." Namine said cuttingly. "I guess he doesn't need to think 'cause his floozies do all of that for him. But, yes, I do suppose the Old Hag is giving them a hard time." She smiled winningly. "But I don't give a shit."

"Now, now, Nami. You know that Mom is, uh…" The muscles in Sora's hands twitched slightly. "Very insa—lovely, intriguing woman."

"Are you on crack?" Namine demanded, setting down her tea cup with a soft clatter on the saucer. Her blue eyes narrowed into slits, a polished nail reaching across the coffee table to prod her elder-brother-by-two-minutes in the chest. "Has Riku been feeding you love-pills again, because I swear to god I thought I told him I'd castr—"

"That was _one time_, Nami, and he apologized!"

"—and when has Elizabeth Potts not been a crazy, selfish, manipulative bitch? Never, So; she was, like, born that way. We were trophies to her—shallow, shallow representations of what she couldn't achieve when she was young!" Namine screeched, pounding her jean-clad thighs in irritation.

Pause.

"Wow, Nam, you put a lot of feeling into that. You've definitely got that bitter-angst-boo-hoo-I'm-all-alone shiz down pat."

"I know, right?" She beamed proudly. "I've been practicing for this audition for a movie, it's called—"

"—_How to Become a Lesbian in Twenty-Five Days_?"

Namine smiled contentedly "I'm going to beat you."

"Sorry, sorry."

Another pause, comfortable and silent with the exception of Namine dumping more sugar cubes into her newly filled cup of English Breakfast. In the background, mixes of Riku's latest obsession played, spewing _"I'm alright, you're alright, and together we do just fine"_ into the quiet. Sora cleared his throat and said, "Nam, do you ever—"

_I'm alright, you're alright, and together we do just fine_.

"—Nevermind. Hey, wouldn't it be funny if your soap-opera thing was called, like, _Gays Of Our Lives _and then we could all be in it and just—"

"Don't even start, Sora."

* * *

Will the KHOP formation succeed in their dastardly plans? Will Roxas ever leave Demyx for Axel? Is clear really a color? (no, seriously guys, is it? I don't know.) Why is Reno such a loser of a father--and is Pence really as gangsta as he seems? All this and more will be answered by the push of the review button. Have a nice day, lieblings.


End file.
